


The Valar Have Sent a Miao

by SusanaR



Series: Desperate Hours Alternative Universe G version (DH AU G) [48]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Backstory, F/M, Family Feels, Friendship, Gandalf arrives in Middle Earth, Gen, Humor, Lothlórien, Mother-Son Relationship, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 17:44:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11788200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanaR/pseuds/SusanaR
Summary: Thranduil receives some surprising intelligence from an unexpected source, and joins a historic conference.





	The Valar Have Sent a Miao

**Author's Note:**

> A/N 1: Taking place in around Third Age Year 1000. Please forgive any liberties I may have taken with respect to which of the Maiar arrived when and where! Please also forgive any mistakes in grammar and spelling, in particular of Sindarin or Quenya.
> 
>  
> 
> A/N 2: The elven OCs Queen Minaethiel (Thranduil's wife), Queen Felith (Oropher's wife), Fileg, and Nestorion who are mentioned in this chapter belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info

A unilateral summons from the White Lady demanding that the King of the Greenwood come to the Golden Wood never put Thranduil in the best of moods. In fact, that was an understatement.

 

“Lady Galadriel probably didn’t even realize that she was being insulting,” Thranduil’s wife soothed as their grandly large party dismounted by the royal talan in the heart of the Goldenwood.

 

Thranduil regarded his beloved bride incredulously, before hiding a smile at the similarly disbelieving gaze being turned upon Minaethiel by his own mother, Felith.

 

“Cousin Galadriel is rude, not stupid,” drawled Thranduil, bolstered by his mother’s silent support, “How could she not know?”

 

“She’s single-minded,” Minaethiel countered, “And heedless. I’m sure if Celeborn had been here when she was getting ready to send her message, she . . .”

 

“Message, nothing,” Thranduil interrupted, quite piqued, “It was a royal summons . . . a ‘royal summons’ from the sometime-regent of a small woodland realm to the greatest and only remaining true elven Kingdom!”

 

“It was a flagrant breach of protocol, ion-nin, one I’m sure that your cousin Celeborn had something to say about, but do keep your voice down,” urged Felith quietly.

 

Thranduil gritted his teeth, but he had to admit that his mother had a point. Besides, in a manner of speaking he’d already had his revenge, or rather, he’d brought it along with him. Galadriel’s shockingly blunt communique had demanded that he appear with his most important advisors. In a fit of temper, Thranduil had decided to interpret “most important” very broadly. In fact, he’d assembled what he was sure would be the largest delegation to this council of elven rulers. Galadriel hadn’t specified the reason for the convocation, so Thranduil had decided that lack of information provided the perfect pretext to bring with him a brace of secondary advisors, household officers, and younger royal cousins.

 

This form of vengeance had several features to recommend itself. First off, Thranduil could claim with a straight face that he was merely doing as Galadriel had asked. Celeborn would probably call him on that, and Thranduil was not particularly looking forward to that discussion, but Celeborn wouldn’t refuse the Goldenwood’s responsibility to feed, house, and entertain Thranduil’s ridiculously grand retinue, which was a revenge in and of itself.

 

Also, bringing such a large company made the point that it was Thranduil’s elves of the Greenwood who were the most numerous in the Third Age, and that they ought not be taken lightly, or summarily ordered hither or thither. Elrond and Cirdan’s deputy Galador, Thranduil was sure, would take his point. Galador might be offended, but Thranduil thought that he could count on some support from his cousin Elrond, the next youngest of the elven rulers and Galadriel’s sometimes exasperated son-by-law. Oh, Thranduil didn’t think that Elrond would be on his side, but he thought that he might be able to get Elrond to plead his case to Celeborn.

 

But before that would even be necessary, Thranduil would have the fun of getting to watch the other elven rulers and their likely small and select entourages make room at the table for himself, ten of his cousins, a dozen of his advisors and household officers, and their staffs. Thranduil couldn’t hide a smile just thinking of all the chaos their entrance would cause in the midst of Galadriel’s great and mysterious matter. And that was even before some of those elves, such as Thranduil’s opinionated and tactless cousin Condirestor, opened their mouths!

 

Yet, as many elves as Thranduil had brought, and as minor as many of them were in the constellation of Greenwood’s influential and powerful, to a one they all turned up their noses at the short young elf in healer’s robes with a warrior’s sword belted about his sturdy waist who awaited them just inside the entrance to the royal talan.

 

Thranduil himself had to hide another smile. Celeborn had managed to have his adopted sons’ cousin dressed in fine clothes, but even the great and wise Lord of the Golden Wood couldn’t manage to make Ecthelion Eyrnion of the Greenwood, called Theli, behave as if he were a civilized gentle elf, let alone kin after however irregular a fashion to a royal lord. And yet, for whatever reason, Thranduil had an abiding tolerance for Theli that at times bordered on fondness.

 

“Aran-nin,” greeted Theli, with a cheeky, happy smile. He forgot to bow, or even to nod his head in respect. He most often did. Normally he only saw Thranduil in the informal atmosphere of Thranduil’s own household, to which Theli was attached as a junior royal healer.

 

“Ecthelion,” recognized Thranduil, his rare use of the healer’s full name a relatively gentle reminder that they had an audience.

 

Too gentle a reminder, apparently, for Theli didn’t even seem to notice it.

 

“’Tis good to see you again, Aran-nin. I’m supposed to be elsewhere, but I thought to tell you, one of Galadriel’s old teachers has come here, to help in the fight against Sauron, or something like that.”

 

“A vala has come here, Ecthelion?” inquired dowager Queen Felith. Thranduil’s mother had once been Galadriel’s student, and was well familiar with who it was had once trained her own teacher.

 

Theli wrinkled his nose as he tried to recall what he'd heard, "No, not one of those, a what-do-you-call-them . . . Miao? The ones who work for the Valamar.”

 

Through dint of long practice, Thranduil mentally translated that as "a Maia . . . the ones who work for the Valar." Theli’s artless mistakes added quite a contrast to the importance of the news he had just delivered. News which he was evidently not supposed to have shared with them, based on the glowers Celeborn’s guards were bestowing upon the heedless healer.

 

Theli, reliably, was oblivious to that. Thranduil’s company was somewhat less so. The King’s Master Healer, Nestorion, stepped between the closest of the Golden Wood soldiers and his erstwhile assistant. While Thranduil pondered the significance of another Maia having come to Middle Earth, he listened with one ear to the Master Healer’s lecture.

 

“A 'miao,' my dear young ignoramus of a healer, is the sound a cat makes. And I don't even know where you came up with 'Valamar.’ What you probably meant to say is that the Valar have sent a Maia."

 

Theli brightened, “Yes, that's it. Maia, Miao, I had all of the sounds in the word right, almost.”

 

“I think perhaps we should excuse you from your duties one day a week, Ecthelion, that you might join the elflings of the Greenwood in their lessons.”

 

Theli’s nose wrinkled again, this time in distaste. But he didn’t despair at this proposed fate, but instead lightly argued, “That's a really unkind thing to suggest doing to poor Elder Angoliel and her assistants, Master Nestorion. What have they ever done to you?”

 

Thranduil, in part to take the heat of Master Nestorion’s disapproval off of Theli and in part for the reaction value, commented blandly, "I can't wait to meet a real, live Miao."

 

His mother’s lips twitched, a sure sign that she was hiding a smile. Gently and silently, like silver chimes through his mind, Felith warned him, *Behave, ion-nin.*

 

Minaethiel stifled a laugh of her own. Tucking one of her hands into the curve of Thranduil's elbow, Minaethiel whispered, "Time to go and be the Aran and Bereth again, Thranduil Meleth-nin."

 

Lord Fileg, Thranduil’s cousin and one of his bodyguards, jested merrily, though equally quietly, "Oh, I don't know, Mina. Having us call Lady Galadriel's friend the Maia a "Miao" would probably further substantiate our reputation as ‘those primitive Greenwood elves.' And that's always good fun."

 

“Fileg,” scolded Felith, guaranteeing at least the appearance of serene silence from that quarter, at least for a short time. Thranduil had no particular objection; his real display of pique was his grandly sized company. And in fact . . .

 

“Theli, join us.” Thranduil commanded, suppressing another smile at the thought of imposing his irrepressible retainer, who so annoyed Lord Celeborn, on his cousin during this so-important council.

 

Thranduil and his entourage began their stately ascent towards the top of the graceful royal talan. Their rather long ascent, as the audience and council chambers of the beautiful tree-building were located high in the top-most sunlight seeking branches. Several intermediate landings were also used for gatherings, and on one of those waited the twin sons of Elrond.

 

Well-trained to the demands of royal protocol, his two young raven-haired cousins greeted Thranduil with respectful half-bows. From royal lords, arguably princes in their own right, it was an appropriate and sufficient show of respect.

 

Then Elladan glared at someone at the rear of Thranduil’s retinue. Theli, perhaps?

 

“Don’t the two of you have someplace more important to be, little cousins?” asked Felith. It was true that Elrond normally insisted that his heir and spare be included in all but the most secretive of meetings between the elven rulers.

 

“We wanted to let you know,” began Elrohir, in a tone of voice that let Thranduil know that it had been Elrond who wanted to give him at least a little advance notice, “And we weren’t sure that Daernana would have mentioned in her message . . .”

 

“Though Theli has likely told you already,” continued Elladan with apparent disapproval.

 

“But in any case, Daernana’s old friend Olorin is here . . .”

 

“But he stopped by the dwarves first.”

 

At that, some of the older warriors and nobles escorting Thranduil, those who had fought the dwarves in Doriath and mostly not been present during the War of the Last Alliance, grumbled discontentedly.

 

Thranduil, on the other hand, was curious. “Really? Why?"

 

Elladan shrugged, causing some of those same venerable elves to wince, "Don't know, he didn't say. I guess if you're a Maiar,"

 

"Maia,” corrected Elrohir in a horrified hiss. In a whisper, he continued, “Honestly, Elladan, your noun and verb forms . . . it’s as if we weren't even in the same classes."

 

Elladan shrugged again, "You knew what I meant. Anyway, if you're a whatever-he-is, then you don't have to explain yourself. They - the dwarves - named him Gandalf, and he likes it, so he's calling himself that. Daernana keeps slipping and calling him Olorin, and Daerada is calling him Mithrandir.”

 

The twins joined Thranduil’s group, together ascending further up the stairs. Rather to Thranduil’s disappointment, Celeborn had apparently anticipated his grand retinue, and appeared in person to greet him.

 

“Cousin,” Celeborn said to Thranduil, his gaze one of mingled disapprobation and amusement, “How very clever of you to have anticipated the trade summit it seemed wise to schedule simultaneously with our more exclusive deliberations. Lord Maerom and Lord Anglad would be pleased to escort the wise advisors you brought to attend to such matters of commerce to the lower chamber where their counterparts have gathered.”

 

Celeborn had chosen well, Thranduil had to admit. The venerable Lords Maerom and Anglad were well respected amongst the Greenwood elves, and the grace of Celeborn’s invitation and praise of Thranduil’s wisdom would make it seem churlish to refuse the invitation. Nor did Thranduil’s lesser advisors much want to get on Celeborn’s bad side. On top of all of that, the prospect of new and profitable trade agreements had more than engaged their interest.

 

With naught more than an internal sigh, Thranduil nodded regally. Their King’s permission granted, the bulk of Thranduil’s voluminous escort followed the Galadhrim lords back down the elegant mallorn wood stairs.

 

Thranduil and his much reduced escort joined Celeborn and the other elven rulers in the airy chamber at the top of the royal talan. Thranduil was somewhat gratified to see that he still had the largest number of elves present, if only by a small margin.

 

Celeborn made introductions. Thranduil observed the old man who must be the Maia with well-concealed interest. He did not look like much, but there was something about him. And that was even before he gave them greetings from their kin reborn in the West. Only then did the council resume the business for which it had been called.

 

"It is good to see you, Olorin,” Galadriel said in her vibrating golden tones, “But I like not what your arrival portends."

 

Fileg, whom Thranduil liked to jest that he paid to say the obvious things so that Thranduil himself didn't have to, asked, "What's that, cousin Galadriel?"

 

Mithrandir looked kindly upon Fileg.

 

Celeborn said quietly in answer, "The Valar do not generally send out the Maiar unless dragons are about to come out of the mountains, Fileg."

 

Mithrandir coughed, “I am the third to arrive this age, actually. I came after Curumo and Aiwendil, but I hear that Curumo is off on some research of his own, and that Aiwendil is, ah . . .” he trailed off, as if trying and failing to find a way to put what he intended to say in non-offensive terms.

 

Galadriel offered tactfully, "There are many new animals here, whom our dear Aiwendil likely has not met before. I am certain that he will get around to giving us greeting once he has introduced himself to the creatures of Middle Earth. And we did receive a cryptic message from Ingloren of Imladris some weeks ago, saying that ‘he who has no patience for explosions,’ had stopped by whilst Ingloren and Elladan were in the midst of an experiment, and then headed out again, without saying anything meaningful. Ingloren could have been referring to Curumo, he could also have been referring to Elrond, or to Erestor, or to any of a hundred other elves who do not appreciate explosions, so I did not give the message the weight that it perhaps deserved."

 

“Regal looking sort, but a bit snippy?” Elladan inquired, “Uses the word ‘children’ a lot?”

 

Galadriel and Mithrandir exchanged telling glances. Mithrandir coughed again, “Ah, that does seem a fair description of Curumo, yes.”

 

“He called himself Saruman,” explained Elladan, “and said that he was going to look for the blue Wizards.”

 

Another series of eloquent glances were exchanged, this time between Glorfindel as well as Galadriel and Mithrandir.

 

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed, but before he could object to this open if unintentional rudeness, Elrond inquired, “You believe that the Blue Wizards they were active before the War of the Last Alliance, working to our benefit amongst the Men of Rhun, Harad and Khand?”

 

“We do believe so, Elrond,” agreed Galadriel, “Elendil’s spies agreed that there were entire provinces of those lands which sent no soldiers to defend the Enemy.”

 

With great distaste, Thranduil himself had to support that, “My father’s spies said much the same.”

 

Much discussion ensued, but little was agreed save that the elven rulers must remain united in the face of the growing threat from Mordor. And that Mithrandir had been sent to Middle Earth to aid them. The Council adjourned, the rulers and their advisors remaining to discuss matters between themselves in the wake of formal deliberations.

 

Elrond turned to his second son, “The next time someone you don't know drops by your laboratory and says that he is going to look for wizards, please do mention it to me, ion-nin.”

 

“Honestly, Ada? Blue Wizards?” protested Elladan, “I didn't know that there were any such things, and so I thought that it must be the name of a new recreational substance. The next time some elf comes up to me in the alchemy labs and says that he is trying to make something that will feel like ‘riding the dragon,’ do you really want me to come and tell you about it?”

 

“We'll discuss this later, Elladan,” said Elrond, with a well-concealed sigh.

 

Mithrandir himself observed this exchange with twinkling eyes and a smile, “You must lead a fascinating life, Elladan Elrondion.”

 

Elladan preened, "You have no idea."

 

Thranduil considered Mithrandir, and found that he didn’t completely dislike him. Mithrandir treated Galadriel and Glorfindel a bit differently, as old friends, but then they were Mithrandir's old friends. Of the other elves, from the ancient Celeborn to the young Silvan Haldir, and Thranduil's young cousin Condirestor, Mithrandir treated them all with an equal brusque respect leavened with amused affection, and Thranduil found that only mildly annoying. Maybe there was a bit too much condescension mixed in with the amused affection . . . but from the form of an old man, Thranduil expected a little condescension. Thranduil also realized how powerful this Mithrandir was, but he didn’t act that way at all. In fact, he was quite disingenuous about it, which presented a number of interesting possibilities for fun and diversion.

 

With that in mind, Thranduil pondered idly, “So, Mithrandir, you've met with dwarves, humans and we elves, of course, but I hear that no one has introduced you to the hobbits?”

 

Mithrandir, who had perhaps been warned of the former Prince Thranduil’s past reputation as something of a practical joker, asked gingerly, "The . . . ‘hobbits,’ Aran Thranduil?"

 

Thranduil favored the wizard with a cool but gracious nod, "You may call me Thranduil. And yes, the hobbits...the little halflings with the big, hairy feet who live in the Shire of Eriador.”

 

His eyes twinkling all the more, Mithrandir asked, “Ah. Are they anything like the big, hairy monster which the elflings of Caras Galadhon tell me lives under the bridge o'er the mill pond?”

 

Thranduil chuckled, "No, they're real. Elrond didn't believe me at first, either."

 

Elrond smiled fondly at Thranduil, "I didn't, but they are in fact real. My apologies, dear cousin, for doubting. Mithrandir, if you would like to meet them, they are a somewhat shy but kind folk, and my sons would be happy to lead you there.”

 

Elrohir and Elladan smiled at the wizard, identically charming and disarming smiles. Mithrandir smiled back, and Thranduil felt a momentary regret that he couldn't be a fly on one of their horses, during the no doubt fascinating trip that followed.


End file.
